The Kremlin, Moscow
January 6, 1936
Andrey Vyshinskij skulked down the shadowy corridors of the region of the Kremlin that served as the foreign ministry during those times when Stalin wished it to be close to him. These times were, Vyshinskij had noted, becoming exceedingly more frequent as the race to gobble up territory had begun with plans laid down the previous summer. Nearly subconsciously, Vyshinskij tightened his grip on his dagger, which he always held close to his heart, as he flitted from shadow to shadow. His destination was the office of the present foreign minister, Maksim Litvninov. Darting around a corner, Vyshinskij barely avoided running into a patrolling soldier. His grip on the dagger tightened even more as he briefly worried about the prospect of having to explain away is dagger.
This line of thought was stopped in its tracks as soon as he saw the door to Litvinov's office. Reaching for the handle, he turned it gingerly, not wishing to make a sound. With a sudden rush of energy, however, he threw the door open and rushed in. Rather, he would have rushed in if the blaze of a dozen lamps hadn't blinded him. Vyshinskij growled to himself, Litvinov even had the
fireplace burning. Distracted by such loathing thoughts, Vyshinskij didn't at first see Litvinov sitting in his padded chair by the fireplace, reading a newspaper. Litvinov put down the newspaper once he noticed Vyshinskij.
“Ahh, Andrey! Just the man I wanted to see. Please, won't you sit down?” Litvinov motioned to the padded chair across the heath of the fireplace. Vyshinskij stared a moment before curtly nodding his assent and moving to sit down.
Litvinov's face almost contorted into something that may have resembled revulsion before he coughed and smiled politely. “You can leave your cloak by the door, Andrey. Please, it is warm in here. You always worry me when you wear that cloak, as if you're some sort of dead-of-night schemer in the court Ivan the Terrible rather than in our own civilized Kremlin.”
With a disgusted sigh, Vishinskij's cloak was carelessly thrown onto the awaiting stand, bringing his dagger into the light prominently, causing Litvinov to feel some distress again. “Andrey? Who did you stab
this time?”
Vishinskij's head whipped about to look at Litvinov as his hand holding the dagger shook seemingly uncontrollably. “Why would you think that I--”
With a pained look, Litvinov halted him. “Please, Andrey. Do not think me a fool, I can tell that you have stabbed someone. Was it the Persian ambassador? That would be all right, seeing as we're declaring war on them anyway so his function would soon become obsolete anyway.”
With a startled look, Vishinskij stilted toward the seat Litvinov had offered him before asking. “We're declaring war on Persia?”
Litvinov smiled condescendingly at Vishinskij. “Of course. Think of all the oil they have! Stalin has decreed that it must be taken to fuel the Red Army. Vacietis' Persian Front is standing by to invade at this very moment, he merely needs confirmation that we are indeed at war with them. I have the signed orders right here, by this time tomorrow we shall be at war.”
The Soviet Union would declare war on Persia on January 7 and the invasion would begin!
Taking the slip of paper Vishinskij was barely able to mutter a surprised “ah!” before Litvinov rounded on him. “So Andrey, who
did you stab? Was it the Persian ambassador? I sincerely hope we don't have another incident like December 29th.”
Vishinskij looked down at the floor shamefaced as Litvinov continued. “You remember what you did? You stabbed the Italian ambassador, that's what you did! And then, clutching your bloody dagger, waving it around and making overhead stabbing motions with it as if you were some sort of demented fool, you laughed maniacally in front of the entire Italian embassy staff! And you know what that lead to, don't you? Don't you?”
Litvinov stared hard at Vishinskij, though he did not really expect a reply from the half-cringing, dagger-wielding man. “Italy declared war on us! The day after the invasion of Turkey, they declared war on us! Stalin was
most displeased. He almost
died laughing. Do you realize what would have happened if he
had actually died? You would have followed him into the grave, an I assure you that this would be no laughing matter! The foreign ministry staff is small enough as it is and Vyacheslav Molotov will not be ready for any real responsibility for another two years. Not to mention, he is
such a brute!”
Italy had declared war on the Soviet Union on January 2, 1936.
“So, Andrey, let me ask you one more time.
Who did you stab?”
Vishinskij looked up Litvinov. “The Bulgarian ambassador,” he muttered somewhat angrily; no one understood his methods.
Litvinov took his pipe out of his opening mouth before it fell out of its own accord, before closing his mouth. He opened his mouth again, and then shut it, his lips pressing so hard against each other that they became but a thin line. He looked away from Vishinskij from the corner of his eyes, focusing on nothing in particular somewhere to the left of his compatriot. Suddenly, the telephone rang and Litvinov stood and moved to answer it. “Hello?...yes, this is Maksim Litvinov...all right, message understood.”
Putting the receiver down, he turned to Vishinskij. “Just as well you didn't stab the Persian ambassador, apparently we are only planning on puppeting that country so he will still have some use here in Moscow. And do you know what else? Apparently Bulgaria is already preparing an extreme statement in response to your newest diplomatic scandal. I have no doubt that they'll declare war on us, just like Italy. No doubt it'll happen to fall after we invade Persia, and to the rest of the world it will look as if they're somehow trying to defend that pathetic county. I do hope Stalin's health stands up to this new blow.”
Sitting down, Litvinov picked up his newspaper again before looking up at Vishinskij. “Why did you come here anyway? I don't have any work for you.”
Vishinskij looked around shiftily, prompting Litvinov to wave the question away with his still hand-held pipe. “All right, I understand. You can leave now. Don't forget to take your filthy cloak on the way out. And this time, really
try not to stab anybody. Please. Or else you might have the entire world at war with us in a month. Enough with your cloaks and daggers and schemes, just...just go.”
With that, he went back to reading his newspaper as Vishinskij got up and sulked himself out of the bright office. Litvinov was already imagining what the newspaper would say about Bulgaria's undoubted declaration of war in several days.
Bulgaria would declare war on the Soviet Union on January 8, one day after the invasion of Persia began. Stalin's health nearly buckled, but did indeed hold and he would survive.
